A Empty Vessel: The Last Pages of HP
by JLipikar
Summary: ONE SHOT: What if, after Harry destroyed all the horcruxes, he went to meet Lord Voldemort only to find someone else had beaten him to it? A rather emo version of the end.


An Empty Vessel

Harry Potter trudged up the gently sloping hill, wand in hand, clothing ragged and torn, and glasses askew. He adjusted them and looked up. Only a few minutes later, he would come face to face with the Dark Lord.

If anyone had been watching, they may think they saw a boy taking a midday walk. Outwardly, Harry was quite calm. Inwardly, he was a rage of emotions…anger, hatred, sorrow, apathy, frustration, and impatience all fought for a place inside him. Oddly enough, but not to Harry, there was no room for fear.

How could there be fear? Ron was dead. Hermione was dead. Dumbledore was dead. Sirius was dead. His parents were long gone. To top it off, Lupin, Moody, and Mundungus were still in St. Mungo's, receiving intensive care…All because of one man. One inhuman plague that would soon be gone. Or Harry would be gone, but it was about the same. Either way, Harry would be rid of him. No, after all that had happened, fear no longer existed in his world.

The Daily Prophet had noticed that Voldemort was getting weaker. The disturbances in both the wizarding and Muggle worlds had decreased. The Death Eaters seemed to have scattered. Some went into hiding. Some went looking for Harry. Some succeeded. But, against their greatest hopes, the horcruxes now lay charred and broken. Only one part of the Dark Lord's soul was left. Left for him.

When he finally got to the clearing, a long white hand stopped him in his tracks. It lay lifeless on the ground. He moved closer to the clearing to get a better look. What he saw blew all thoughts and emotions away, leaving only…shock.

Lord Voldemort lay dead on the ground beneath a terrified Neville Longbottom who had his wand pointed straight at Harry's heart.

"Oh," said Neville as he nervously shifted his feet. "It's y-you. Oh good." He put his wand away.

How? It was not possible. Harry's mind spun. He shook his head.

"No, no, it's not…the prophecy…"

Neville, who knew nothing of the prophecy, merely stood by, watching him.

Suddenly, Harry's head shot up and he pointed his wand at Neville.

"You're Voldemort. And that's Neville. How stupid do you think I am? You've used the Polyjuice Potion and…what I can't understand is why. You know you're supposed to kill me or I'm supposed to kill you. I'm seventeen! How can you use the Polyjoice Potion to hide from me, or play or trick or whatever! How can you be afraid of me! You're VOLDEMORT!"

Neville looked thoroughly horrified.

"N-no, Harry. I-I'm not. I'm not V-him."

Harry, wand pointed, moved in on Neville.

"You killed my mum and dad. You killed Dumbledore! And you dare stand here! Fight me! KILL me! You owe me that much, I think!"

Neville, shaking from head to toe, shook his head.

"No Harry. No, I-I killed him. I heard he was getting weaker and I thought no one was doing anything about it and I- I thought you were dead so I came looking for him and – and I used the Unforgivable Curse because I didn't know what else to do and I remembered my mum and dad and what he had done to everyone like you and Dumbledore so I used the curse we learned in our fourth year, remember? I didn't think it would work but I said it anyway. I-I said Ava-"

"Stop." Harry lifted his hand that held the wand. He looked into Neville's eyes, searching and searching. "Polyjuice is bound to wear off. You will stay with me as Neville or you will fight me as Voldemort…" Only then did the absurdity of his statements get to him. This could not be Voldemort. Maybe it was two of his Death Eaters. That had to be it. But as Harry stared at the situation even longer, somehow, he knew that it was what it looked like. The Dark Lord was dead and Harry hadn't killed him. The prophecy was all wrong. His life was a mistake, his purpose in life obsolete. The deaths, all of them, made meaningless.

"Harry?" Neville asked.

Harry sat down on the ground, staring at his nemesis a couple of feet away.

"Harry," said Neville. "It doesn't matter who did it. He's dead. That's all that matters. He's gone, Harry, and we're still alive."

Harry could neither agree nor disagree.

"Harry, I have to tell you," Neville continued, "I called the Ministry. They'll be here soon."

Neville walked over to him and sat beside him. As soon as he did, the two heard a couple of gasps. The Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, and his cabinet stepped into the clearing, staring at the evil that lay dead and was no more.

Someone saw Harry and went to him. When the others were over their shock enough to look away from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, they stared at him. No one noticed Neville in the background.

Scrimgeour walked up to Harry so that he had to stand up and meet him.

"Harry, do you realize what you have done?" Then, very uncharacteristic of him as it was, he grabbed Harry into a bone crunching hug. Everyone clapped. Harry looked at the scene in horror.

"No, I…no, you don't understand," he said.

Soon more people came to the scene as Harry tried to explain himself to Scrimgeour.

"It's not what it looks like. I have to explain."

The Minister took Harry to the side, this time putting both hands on his shoulders.

"I know, Harry," he said.

"You do?"

"Yes, and I don't blame you. No one blames you. This was one of the only times that no one could blame you for using an Unforgivable Curse."

"No, it's not that. You don't understand."

"You're afraid of going to Azkaban? Is that it? Trust me; you will never go to any prison. You are a hero now, a legend. Do you understand? Yes, you do?"

"Yes, but-"

"Then what's the problem?" But instead of listening to what was the problem, Scrimgeour simply patted him on the back and steered him towards the crowd of people that were now gawking and crying and celebrating. "The Daily Prophet will be here soon, and they'll want a picture of me and you. Harry, you don't look so well. Maybe you should sit down for the moment."

Harry, in a daze, sat right back down from where he first had risen to greet the Minister. Neville was still there, the only one not gawking or crying or celebrating.

"Neville," Harry began.

But Neville did not respond. Harry turned his head to see the boy staring at the ground, or beyond it, mouth slightly open.

"Neville?"

This time Neville snapped out of his thoughts to see Harry with both eyes. It seemed that the incredible truth of the situation had crawled into him, and he could not crawl away. Harry remembered Dumbledore telling him, only a year before, that killing causes the soul to be separated. Was Neville's soul separated for the moment? He had truly done Harry a favor from having to undergo what he seemed to be going through now. Harry destroyed the final horcruxes, but not without his friends, and he had not furnished the final blow. He still couldn't understand how someone like Neville Longbottom accomplished such a feat. Unfortunately, for him, it would forever remain a mystery.

Not knowing this yet, Harry sat speechless for another reason. All he could think was that Neville should receive this recognition, not him. It was merely a fluke that he was there at all. He looked at the crowd of people, dancing and laughing and crying. And that's when he understood.

Neville was right about one thing. It didn't really matter who destroyed Voldemort. No one really cared. They were just relieved that he was gone. Harry Potter, the tool, the vessel of their salvation, had supposedly done his job just as they had hoped he would. They didn't realize how empty that vessel now was, now that he was no longer able to do what came for. It was as if someone had stripped him of what was rightfully his. All those deaths…it was his revenge, now gone unfulfilled.

No, no one really cared. Everyone that had cared, that could have cared…was gone. All sacrificed for the many hundreds of people he didn't know, who didn't give a Golden Galleon to who he really was. He shook his head. He wanted to cry, but it was too late for tears. He knew he should be overcome with joy at the situation, that there was no sane reason why he was still sitting by Neville on the ground, but the joy would not come to him. A wave of apathy came over him instead. Neville had said that he was alive, but was he, anymore? Now that his life mission was gone, now the closest people in his life were gone, what was left? To go to the few that may welcome him back like Ginny or Mrs. Weasley or maybe Lupin if he recovered? Impossible. They were also broken and beaten. They had enough problems without his adding to their list.

Harry had never felt more hopeless. He didn't care. He didn't care when Scrimgeour came and pulled him up. When the photographer told him to smile. When he smiled for the millions of people that would kiss the newspaper and praise his name, simply his name. He didn't care. There was no one and nothing left to care about.


End file.
